“Well, if it ain’t Ayden Stone back from the dead!”
Without even acknowledging me he heads for the window. “You look awesome! No scars or anything. Did you have plastic surgery?”
Ayden is less animated. “No, just good skin, I suppose.”
“No shit!” He reaches out to shake Ayden’s hand and pulls him close so he can pat him on the back. “You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack,” he whispers. He’s continues to pat Ayden’s arm. “So what did I miss? Have you been playing catch-up?”
If only he knew… more leading than catching-up here.
Ayden is unsure of how to act around Jake; I actually believe he’s uncomfortable with his brotherly behaviour. Jake will be the first to notice a change.
You grew up together. He’s the only man you’re close to and you trust.
Ayden immediately becomes less abrasive. He pats Jake on the back. “We thought you weren’t going to make it so we started without you.”
“No worries. I’ve got Grace typing up my report. I dictated it on the flight back. Looks like you’ve got everything under control here.”
He scans the room and his gaze rest on me. “Beth! I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
As he comes over to me, I stand to greet him and in my excitement I forget to hold onto my jacket; the button comes undone and I approach him looking like I’m taking part in a wet T-shirt competition. It’s only when he lowers his eyes and leaves them there, focusing on my sweat soaked blouse that I realise it. Thankfully, I have my back to the Board members.
He’s grinning. ”Did you get dressed in a hurry?” he asks, punching Ayden in the arm. “Looks like you two’ve started your honeymoon already. Up to your old tricks I see.”
Crimson-faced, I quickly button up my jacket. I turn to Ayden preparing to be met by a grin but, instead, he is simply staring at me. There is not a trace of humour, merely an expression that I cannot fathom.
Ayden! Snap out of it!!
I take Ayden’s arm and lead him back to his place at the head of the table. “We have some catching up to do,” I remind Jake light-heartedly. “We’re going out to lunch. You’re welcome to join us.”
Returning to the here and now, Ayden pulls back my seat for me and takes his place, leaving Jake to make the walk back to his seat.
“Before we close this meeting, is there anything else?” He scans the room and passes Stephen then sweeps back to him. “Yes Stephen …”
He starts to mumble. “It’s a delicate matter, Ayden, one that would be better discussed privately.”
With the room cooling, Ayden reaches for his jacket. “Will it affect ASMI?” he asks impatiently.
Stephen is struggling to find the right words.
“Come on man, spit it out. Let’s hear it.”
“I’m afraid there seems to have been some confusion about the legality of your marriage to … to Miss Parker.”
Ayden and I look at each other in surprise. Then - with every other head in the room - we turn to face Stephen, and look back at Ayden as if we’re watching the set point being played in a Wimbledon final.
Did you know?
Not until five minutes ago.
“That is disappointing news. And how do you propose we deal with this revelation, Stephen?”
All eyes are now on Stephen. Even Jake puts down his coffee; he’s riveted to the spot.
“As I see it, we have three options.” He clears his throat. “One. You leave things as they are and remain unwed. The Vegas ceremony will be invalid and thus annulled...”
All eyes turn to Ayden. “Two.”
“Two. I arrange for the documents to be faxed over so you can read through and sign them. Thus legalising the marriage …”
“And three?”
“Three. You make arrangements to be re-married here and you take it from there.” His last word trails off and he sits down, visibly relieved to have communicated the bad news and managed to keep his job.
Ayden rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I see. We do seem to have a problem on our hands, don’t we?” He turns to me. “What do you propose we do, Beth? How might we resolve our predicament? Will you be my wife in all respects, including name?”
What can I say to that? “I thought I was!”
“As did I, darling. You decide.”
I’m shaking my head. When I look around the room, all eyes are on me. “I think we should sign on the dotted line, Ayden, and make it legal.”
Straightening his jacket and fastening the button, Ayden signals his agreement. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” He looks back at Stephen. “Have the documents ready to be signed by lunchtime. We’ll be leaving for our honeymoon tomorrow and we will do so as man and wife. Now, anything else?”
The gathering begins to disperse, with only Jake and I remaining seated!
Once the Board Members have left, Jake stands. ”What the fuck! Didn’t you two sign anything in Vegas?”
I try to explain, “No we didn’t. The MI5 agents were so eager to get their hands on Ayden, we didn’t have time.”
Jake lowers his head, realising his accountability. “Yeah. Sorry. It was my fuck-up that caused that.”
Tell him the truth Ayden!
Ayden reaches out to shake his hand. “No harm done.”
“What?” I exclaim. “Tell him Ayden. You can’t let him think it was all his fault.”
Jake looks repentant. “It’s alright, Beth. No need to defend me I know I fucked-up.”
“But you didn’t.” I take Ayden’s arm. “Tell him, or I will.”
I don’t know what you want me to tell him?
It occurs to me that Ayden doesn’t actually know and I’ve put him on the spot. I have to make a quick recovery. “I know how bad Ayden feels about this, so I’ll tell you.” I take hold of Jake’s arm and lead him over to the enormous window. “You didn’t fuck-up. It was a sting operation set up by MI5. It was arranged months ago and Ayden couldn’t get out of it. For the sake of making it look real, he had to string you along. He feels terrible about it.”
Ayden sits poised and unruffled, massaging his chin the way he does when he’s thinking things through.
Tell him you’re sorry.
Jake turns to him. “Is this true? All this was going on and you didn’t tell me? You let me feel like shit because I thought I’d let you down?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Sorry about that.”
Jake begins to laugh. “You bastard!” His gaze shifts to me. “And did you know?”
I shake my head. “No. Not until I went over to see him in MI5’s HQ.” I have to diffuse this before it blows up in Ayden’s face. “You think you were deceived and hung out to dry? I’ve ended up with a non-existent marriage because of it!”
Jake looks to Ayden. “You fooled us all, Ayd.”
“I had no choice.”
“I get that. Business is business right?”
I interrupt. “That’s not how it was Jake. It wasn’t about business. It was about something more important than that. It was about the chips being intercepted and used for weaponry like rockets and missiles. That’s why Ayden got involved.”
Ayden defends himself, finally. “I should have told you but the fewer people who knew the more credible it was.”
“Well, it worked.”
“It did and the British Secret Services are working with the Saudi Arabian government to arrest and detain undesirables, as they call them.”
“That’s good news, I guess.” He huffs away a thought. “So when were you going to tell me?”
“When the time was right,” Ayden states.
Jake leans in and kisses me on my cheek. “You’re a good person Beth. I hope some of your goodness rubs off on our Ayden here.” He walks across the room, stopping to pat Ayden on the shoulder as he remains seated. “I’ll go check on that report and meet you for lunch, right?
“I’ll have Charlotte tell you where we’re going.”
He leaves the room
in a dash and I can feel his disappointment wafting over us like a backdraft.
“What was that all about?” Ayden asks.
I stomp over to him. “It was about you not trusting your best friend.”
“I don’t see why …”
I hold up my hand to quiet him. “You will.”
***
D. I. Bowker is sitting in a plush waiting room on the top floor of the Stone Building. He’s reading through notes and recalling yesterday’s visit to Hatch End, feeling fascinated and benevolent; if ever there was a victim who needed his help it’s Elise Richards. Contemptuously, he glances around at the white leather furniture, the accolades proudly displayed in gilded frames, the scented water. Before he can rationalise his disdain the door opens and a smart, mature lady moves towards him.
“Detective Inspector Bowker, please come with me. Mr. Stone will see you now.”
He follows her along a brightly lit corridor decorated with photographs of capital cities; every one he recognises, none he’s ever visited. He turns away and faces forward, refusing to be taken in by big business branding.
He enters the lion’s den and sees Ayden Stone reclining in a high-backed leather chair that swivels left and right. He’s dressed immaculately in a navy suit and tie. His features appear chiselled, his smile charming in the extreme. Behind him is the London skyline; familiar landmarks dwarfed by his monument to materialism: The Stone Building. Mack envisions King Canute, holding back the tides, and struggles to suppress a smile. Instead, he reshapes it into a polite greeting.
“Good afternoon Mr. Stone,” he says, reaching out to shake his hand. Thank you for seeing me. “I must say you’re looking incredibly well after your date with death.”
Mr. Stone gives him a wry smile and meets his handshake a little more forcefully. “Thank you Detective Inspector. It’s amazing what they can do with modern medicine these days. Please take a seat.”
Mack nods, incredulously. “I wouldn’t know. I doubt you could get what you’ve had on the National Health though.”
Mr. Stone will not be baited. “I’m sure it’s universally available. No secret potions have been used.” He laughs quietly. “What can I do for you? I have already been interviewed by one of your colleagues and I explained fully what happened.”
“Yes you did and I thank you for that, but certain details have come to light in the past couple of days which I’d like clear up, if that’s alright?” He’s playing his cards close to his chest.
“Of course. Fire away.”
“Can you confirm you knew Miss. Richards?” He’s starting with the easy questions first.
“Yes, we were friends. She worked at the Estate Agents and was very helpful in the purchase of my home.” Mr. Stone leans a little further back into his chair.
That’s nothing he didn’t already know. “And would you say you became close?”
“Close? Define close.”
Mack recognises a smart arse when he meets one and realises Mr. Stone will not be easily pinned down. “By close, I mean were you engaged in sexual relations with Miss. Richards?”
“No I was not,” Mr. Stone replies, indignantly. “She wasn’t my type.” He turns a photo of Elizabeth Stone around on his desk. “That’s my type.”
Mack recognises her as the small girl in the photograph, all grown up; an ugly duckling transformed into a swan. “Your wife is very beautiful, Mr. Stone, but you are newlyweds as I recall, after a whirlwind romance. It’s the time before you met your charming wife I’m concerned with.” He waits for an unhelpful response.
“I see. Then, once again, I would have to confess, Miss. Richards was not my type. I’m sure she was a very charming woman but we were only friends and I am still struggling to comprehend why she decided to hold a knife to my ribs and tried to kill us both. She was fixated on me for some reason. I feared for my life when she grabbed at the steering wheel.”
Mack doesn’t believe a word of it but three photographs do not make a case. “Yes, I can appreciate that. But what possessed her to consider suicide, do you think?”
Mr. Stone begins to turn left and right in his chair as if he hasn’t a care in the world. “I was recently married, and all I can assume is that she felt betrayed in some way. Which, of course, was not the case.”
Tiring of his farcical performance Mack opts for a more direct approach. “One possible scenario might be that she was blackmailing you, Mr. Stone. Was she?”
“Of course not. What a ridiculous idea,” Mr. Stone scoffs. “What could she possible use to blackmail me? I have nothing to hide.” He checks his watch.
“I just wondered if perhaps she had known you in the past …”
Mr. Stone’s brows arch in astonishment. “The past? What are you insinuating, that we were business partners of some sort?”
Mack won’t be deterred. “Not necessarily …”
“Well, what then?”
“I was merely enquiring as to the possibility that you might have known each other in a different capacity or at an earlier stage in your life when you were less…” He struggles to find the right word; he wants to say connected or rich but some careful editing transposes it into, “…well known.”
Mr. Stone looks around at the grandiosity of his office - the six TV screens, the artwork, the door leading to an en-suite bathroom and dressing room. He turns around and directs his accuser to the view. “I have been well known for some time Detective Inspector Bowker. How far back are you prepared to go?” he asks. Undaunted by his insinuation he turns to face him.
Recognising a veiled threat when he hears it, Mack prepares to back off. This is one battle he has neither the manpower nor the brainpower to win. He has been out- manoeuvred by a master. He feels out of his depth but more determined than ever to scratch away at the veneer of this man; to dig down deep with his bare hands if necessary, until he can look himself in the eye and say with confidence what happened in the past and why Elise Richards tried to sacrifice them both for the sake of a secret.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Mr. Stone asks, politely.
Mack stands and straightens trousers that have become creased while sitting. “No, nothing else. You’ve been very helpful Mr. Stone. Thank you for your time,” he says briskly.
“Not at all. I’ll have Charlotte show you out.” He presses a button under his desk and revolves in his chair. “I hope you’ve not parked too far away. It looks as though it’s going to rain.”
Mack doesn’t bother answering, and leaves Mr. Stone’s office without a backward glance. He makes the long descent to the lobby, steps out onto the pavement and closes his eyes, feeling the refreshing trickle of raindrops on his face. When he opens them the rain has stopped. He reads it as a good omen and crosses the road to where his car is parked, dodging professional looking people in designer suits who are talking on phones - doing deals with the Devil to make their next million. He wants no part of it. All he has is his sixth sense and a self-satisfied smile, and that’s enough.
13
Having stepped out of our business clothes we are relaxing in casual attire. I’m wearing a button-down khaki dress; he’s dressed in black jeans and a pale blue T-shirt that accentuates the sapphire streaks in his eyes. Ayden is pouring champagne into two tall flutes. Ambient music is playing through the sound system in our home and we are celebrating the fact we are now officially man and wife, with the documents to prove it.
Bernie has prepared a meal for us. The aroma of onions and rich sauce is filling the lounge with memories of home cooking and we are relaxed in each other’s company.
The table is set and the casserole is bubbling on the table. Thankfully the glass has been covered with a tablecloth, so no traces of my fingerprints remain; only the memory of a sexual encounter that has me squirming in my chair.
Ayden sits across from me, poised and justifiably proud of his accomplishments today. He fooled everyone. For a moment even I believed him, but that was wishful thinki
ng: I’m still caught up in this ‘adventure.’
I stop eating to speak. “You’re very quiet.”
“I’m reviewing the day’s events.”
“Really? You did well, although turning the heating up was naughty of you.”
He begins to laugh roguishly. “I was thinking about what your husband would do and that came to mind.”
I’m laughing too. “I must have lost three pounds in perspiration. I’ve had to throw the blouse away and the suit will need dry cleaning – twice!”
“I enjoyed the experience although there were times when I had to suppress emotional responses.”
“Such as …?” I take a sip of wine.
“The way I felt when Jake looked at you.”
“Well who’s fault was it my blouse had become transparent? If I’d been wearing a bra there would have been nothing for him to look at. And, anyway, what did he mean when he said you were ‘up to your old tricks?’”
He’s shaking his head. “I don’t know.”
I think I do.
Silently, I put down the glass. “So how do you explain that feeling?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“I do; let’s call it jealousy.” I look away and return to the beef bourguignon.
“I’ve not experienced it before. You could be right.” He nods, accepting the explanation.
“It’s like I’ve said before; we humans feel everything, good and bad. That’s what makes us what we are.”
“I’m beginning to appreciate that. It would explain why I find myself in a permanent state of arousal.” He just throws that out there.
My eyes widen at the thought. “You do?”
He places down his fork. “Yes.”
I raise my eyes to his and the darkness of his irises makes me catch my breath. “I see that.”
“You seem to have a profound effect upon this body. Some kind of intangible force of will draws me to you, sexually.”
TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) Page 14